


The Misadventures of Mischief & Mayhem

by bleumysti



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleumysti/pseuds/bleumysti
Summary: Michael enlists the help of fellow survivor kid Maria for a mini- roadtrip. Illicit activities, pool hustling racist rednecks, and bar fights ensue.  Bonnie & Clyde feels.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca & Michael Guerin, Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	The Misadventures of Mischief & Mayhem

_Show: Roswell, New Mexico_

_Characters: Michael Guerin, Maria DeLuca_

_Pairing: Miluca/Marichael_

_A/N: A previously unpublished story from the archives. One-shot. Random rambles. Takes place somewhere in s1 after Songs About Texas. It’s … whatever. Enjoy, or not. To each their own._

* * *

"I hope you can dance, Deluca,“ he shouted over his shoulder, not wanting to risk taking his eyes off of the mob of cousin-f*cking, backwoods rednecks and wannabe cowboys advancing on them.

“I can get down if I have to.” Maria’s voice was like steel to anyone in the vicinity, but he heard the trepidation, and it killed him.

He knew she was likely outnumbered on her end as well when he felt her back press alongside his – her body taut and ready to fight. He could partially smell the adrenaline.

She was so close to him he could feel her exhale as she readied herself for whatever was about to go down. Their bodies melded together – backs slick with sweat as they shifted and moved in sync.

His default was anger; anger was better than the sadness and pain, and maybe he gained a reputation as the volatile one, but it fueled him when necessary.

He hated this. He hated being stuck in a position where he couldn’t protect Maria. He knew DeLuca didn’t need saving, but he protected his people, and the dread he felt at the mere thought of not getting her out of that bar without a scratch was unlike anything he felt in some time.

His anger was burning hot and searing. He could barely hear anything beyond the buzzing in his ears. The chides and jeering faded away.

“When I’m done wiping the floor with you, I’m going to make your colored bitch put that mouth to better use,” the instigator, some muscled, sweaty brute’s lips curled in a sadistic smile, and it was all Michael needed to see red.

His anger rolled off of him in waves, his jaw clenched from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat; his eyes burned a hole through the drunkard front and center leading the charge.

“Guerin … ” his surname on her lips was a question, a statement, a prayer, and a battle cry all in one. He felt her muscles contract as she took a swing, and his fists clenched as he did the same.

The only sound he didn’t tune out was the unmistakable smack of his fist connecting with the douchebag’s face.

He was a brawler, and his objectives were simple: never lose track of Maria, and get them the hell out of there by any means necessary.

Those were his final thoughts as his world descended into violent chaos.

**_Several Hours before_ **

“You’re going to really make me get on my knees, DeLuca?”

If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t be caught dead scooting around the Wild Pony on his knees, hat in hand, but he had long since accepted Maria made him do unthinkable things.

“Guerin, I’m busy.” Maria signed off on another shipment and flashed a stunning smile at the delivery man. He promptly ignored the twinge of jealousy over someone else being on the receiving end.

“DeLuuuuca,” he practically whined, as she crossed the room ignoring him as best as she could.

DeLuca,“ he called out again, raising an impressed brow at her commitment. "De–”.

She attempted to flounce past him, but this time he grabbed her hips, stilling her. The heat of her skin burned his fingertips, and he peeked up at her through his lashes.

Maria raised her brow, but the corner of her mouth pulled up in a bemused grin.

“I kind of like you down there; it looks good on you,” she jutted her hip out, placing her hands on her hips above where his rested, but at least she gave him her undivided attention.

“Yeah, I remember,” he teased.

He should have been prepared for the knee to the chest, but he wasn’t and found himself falling back on his haunches.

“C'mon, ‘Luc. I just need you to drive me there to pick up a part. It’s the last part I need to restore this vintage baby out back, and the going price is,” he whistled.

Maria was a survivor like him. She was often hard up and respected the hustle.

“I’m not one to knock a person for securing their bag, but what do I get out of this?”

He exhaled. Once they reached a point of negotiation, he always knew he had her. His heart ached a little when he thought about how behind she was in her payments to the facility she placed Mimi in.

He caught a glimpse of the letter the last time she was poring over her finances; ironically, it was while he was swiping a bottle of booze from behind the bar like a total cad.

He found a way to make it up to her, but he still felt guilty about that.

“Ten percent of the profits,” he offered.

“Twenty,” she countered. “And gas money. I’m being generous.”

“Fifteen, and I’ll tune-up your baby free of charge for the next year.”

She snorted. “You already do that, remember?”

He frowned. She was right. He regularly did whatever mechanical work on her truck on his own dime and time, but it was the least he could do for not paying her for all the booze.

“Fine. Eighteen, and I’ll fix the freezer and the eye on the stove.”

“You already fixed both two weeks ago.” She didn’t bother to hide her smirk that time, and it came equipped with her head canted to the side as she peered down on him only slightly smug.

“Shit.” How the hell did he always end up doing so much for her? The worst part is he never minded, and still didn’t, but it put him in a sticky spot whenever they bartered. “You’re hell on my rep.”

“See a sucker lick it,” she replied sweetly.

He stared at her momentarily dazed his tongue peeking out.

“You promise,” escaped from his lips before he could bite it back. He cleared his throat after an awkward beat and pivoted the conversation. “I know a spot.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize how graceless and suggestive it came out until her eyes got a faraway look before she schooled her expression.

He didn’t miss that though.

“A scrap metal spot. Eighteen percent and a side hustle.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, or so he thought, he could never tell with her.

“Deal.”

She stuck her hand out to shake it, and he squeezed tight using her as leverage to hoist himself off the sticky floor.

“Do I need to ask?” She waited for him to read her mind so to speak, and lucky him, he knew where she was headed.

“Trust me, DeLuca. No people or puppies will be hurt by the stripping of this copper. No one will miss it. Certainly no one decent.”

She studied him for a long moment. “I would’ve settled for 12 percent, you know.” It came out smug at first, but then she softened. “I know how hard you worked on that car.”

It was one of the things he liked about her. She was somehow ruthless and soft-hearted at the same time. She needed the money, but she didn’t want to infringe on his profits either.

Haggling was part of their spiel, so they came prepared, but it was her way of making sure she didn’t take too much.

Maria had no idea how much he would sacrifice for her. Even he didn’t understand their thing, but she was his people – somehow, at some point, it just happened, and he didn’t fight it.

Love them or loathe them, he was a self-absorbed bastard, but he always looked out for his people.

“If you plan to get sentimental on me, I will exploit it,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and stormed towards the door to lock up knowing good and well he would be at the heels of her feet.

He always liked driving with DeLuca. It was the main reason he called in a favor in the first place.

Cruising with Maria was pure escapism. It was also when he saw her the most carefree. She laughed and sang, and she drove like she was running away from her problems, and there was no way in hell they’d catch up to her.

She escaped into the open road and wherever it led her, and he escaped into her. It was something simple about that.

Half the time, she forgot he was there at all until he jumped in with the chorus of a song he barely knew the words to, and she laughed uncontrollably at his terrible voice and crappy lyrics.

Some days, he felt like he was drowning, but Maria was like catching a breath.

And there was something refreshing about her never asking him questions.

She didn’t ask much of him, which made him want to share more, so when he directed her to the archeology department of a college campus and had her stay idle in the truck because campus police are a bitch, she only left him with a cryptic, “play nice.”

And when he bolted out a side door with his hat pulled down obscuring his face, an impossibly large box in hand, and a fire alarm blaring loudly, she shot him a puzzled expression but swung the door open.

He jumped inside with the grace of a gazelle, and she sped off before his foot left the pavement – the door swung shut during their hasty escape.

She slowed down as she hit the highway but looked back in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind them.

Max or Isobel would have given him hell, and Alex disapproved of his less than lawful pursuits.

“I liked it better when you were speeding,” he broke the silence.

She let out a soft snort. “When you have a body in the trunk, you drive the speed limit.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” and just like that, he eased them back into their banter. Nope, only Maria would put up with that from him.

“Not yet,” she eyed him and then the box with curiosity. “Day’s still young, though.”

Her smile momentarily dazzled him, and he forgot how to breathe. He admired her restraint; she still hadn’t asked him about the mysterious box that definitely wasn’t a car part he liberated from an establishment with her help.

No one steals car parts from the archaeological wing of a university, but covert space ship pieces? Definitely.

He almost wished she would ask. He knew she suspected something was off – she sensed things, but she never called him out on it. She just gave him the benefit of the doubt in a way no one else did.

If she asked, even once, he would probably take one look at those deep brown eyes and spill it all. It scared the shit out of him.

“Careful, Guerin,” she snuck a look at him before her eyes returned to the road. “You’re going to hurt yourself with all that thinking.”

“You and I both know I don’t do much of that,” he said. He didn’t realize how self-deprecating it sounded until she responded.

“If you were fishing for a compliment, you caught me on a good day because you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

The lump that formed in his throat was unexpected, and the silence that befell them even more so.

“I need a drink,” he said after a while. He googled the nearest watering hole and directed her to it.

She said nothing the whole time, but he couldn’t decipher the inscrutable expression on her face.

They parked some ways away, and he hopped out of the truck to escape the silence – the intensity of it. The intensity of his convoluted feelings for her.

He found the confined space stifling like someone was squeezing the little air left in his lungs, or so he thought, but what did it say about him that he didn’t find his breath again until she was beside him?

Even though it was dusk, the place had a following. They followed the dirt road to the dilapidated shack of an establishment, and he tipped his hat at her while he held open the grimy door.

It smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, a scent he was all too familiar with, and he rolled his eyes and swore under his breath at the rebel flag proudly taking up an entire wall over the bar.

Maria merely shrugged. “It’s Texas,” she sighed with a weariness he never thought about.

She shimmied her way to the bartender, and he appreciated the view.

“Two whiskeys neat, please,” she said coolly. Her fake smile was frozen in place when long moments later she still hadn’t gotten them.

His confusion morphed into disbelief, then doubt, but she merely raised a brow and motioned for him to order.

The barkeep gave him the drinks lightning quick, and Maria only snorted when the flirty bartender ran her fingers across his hand and smiled at him.

He slid a glass towards Maria, but it didn’t stop his new friend from engaging in small talk that roughly translated that she was down to screw.

“Always drowning in ass, aren’t you, Mikey?” She slid the glass back toward him, reached across the counter, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the two whiskeys she intended for herself.

She ignored the dirty look and exclamation from the bartender, tossed a wad of cash on the counter and disappeared into the crowd.

He tossed his own money down, grabbed his drinks and followed after extricating his hand from that of the overly friendly blond.

He figured Maria was in search of a jukebox, but instead, he found her at the pool table, stick in hand.

A group of guys was looking on, some with the type of interest that made him snarl and others with a disdain that made him worry.

Sure enough, a scruffy looking redhead made his way to the table and had his hand on Maria’s ass before Michael could reach her.

His jaw clenched at the sight, along with his fists, and he reminded himself not to cause a scene of the inhuman variety.

Before he could blink again Maria had kneed small Red to the groin and bent back his finger to the amusement and annoyance of some of his crew.

“Next time it won’t be my knee,” she hissed before releasing him.

Maria DeLuca’s her own damn hero. She could save herself, but he didn’t give a damn.

“Everything OK, babe?” He said, placing his hand to the small of her back while eying the room.

The only sign she gave acknowledging his little display of territorial machismo was a snort.

“Everything is about to be,” she responded, sensing a challenge.

He followed her line of sight and watched as a muscled guy emerged from the huddle of men and grabbed a pool stick of his own.

Michael recognized him as one of the men whose leering was more disdainful than lust.

She tossed him another stick, and they had a loaded conversation in just one look. Maria was a mystery to him, and despite her psychic claims he knew he was to her, but there were certain things of which they spoke the same language.

Their kinship was in what they did to get by – how they survived. No judgment, just mutual respect and understanding.

It’s why they worked so well together. It’s the reason they barely needed to exchange a word with one another in the hours they spent at that pool table.

He felt the tension in the room, and it made him uneasy. However, the money stacked up.

Maria’s way of fighting back against a world of people that saw her as nothing more than scum was to channel her energy into bleeding them dry. She told him it was more productive than wallowing.

He respected the hell out of it and her, but she made too much of a show of it during her last round. He could tell.

Around the time she crowed a “thanks for your business, gentlemen. Now run me my money,” he knew tempers were on the cusp of flaring.

She won, of course. Or rather, they won. The funny thing was the clowns surrounding them probably thought they hustled them when in reality, he and Maria were just that good.

It wasn’t either of their first times at a table. Maria was a shark in more ways than one, and he relied on some betting to feed himself often growing up.

“Bitch!” Their opponent wasn’t taking the loss well, and he hurled the pool stick in a fit of anger as he advanced on Maria.

He stepped in front of her without a second thought. It wasn’t the first time he stepped between a beatdown and made himself the target. But if he didn’t learn anything from those years of bouncing in and out of shitty foster homes, he learned how to fight and how to take a beating.

“Michael …” he felt her warm breath on the back of his neck as she exhaled. He didn’t have the time to unpack the use of his first name or what she was trying to say.

He swiped the stack of cash off the table and palmed it in his hand, not breaking eye contact with the group of men as he walked backward shuffling Maria along with him.

“You stole our money, and if you think we’re letting you leave here with it, you got another thing coming.”

“Oh, now that’s not true and you know it. Don’t be a sore loser, champ,” Michael responded with a smug grin that earned him a pinch from Maria. “Like the lady said, ‘thanks for doing business.”

He tilted his hat and turned to leave with Maria’s hand in his. He knew they were in for hell when he heard a whistle.

“God damn assholes,” Maria muttered under her breath. “They’re really doing this.”

Her irritation was unmistakable, and she picked up her step only slowed long enough to twist the arm of some random drunk who grabbed at her.

They made it as far as the bar before Michael stalled as a mob consisting of most of the patrons at the shithole advanced on him.

The bar grew louder by the second as half the members of some biker gang headed in his direction. He swore profusely. There was no way in hell they were getting out there without a fight.

He shouted as much over his shoulder to Maria, and she was resigned to it as well. He mentally filed away her response curious as to how often and in what capacity did she find herself in a brawl.

They shared a look, then a nod before turning back to back and throwing their punches simultaneously. He heard the guy DeLuca hit howl in pain.

He landed another punch with the drunken prick in front of him and grinned when the guy’s nose gushed with blood; he broke it.

Maria groaned, and his smile turned to a grimace. He still felt her at his back, pressed against him, which was a good sign.

“Maria!” He called behind him.

Someone landed a punch to his gut that knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over for a moment.

“I’m –” she was winded as she ducked a fist and landed a one-two number that sent some guy to his knees and impressed the hell out of him. “I’m fine, just …”

She was poetry in motion, graceful as hell, and he realized she may very well have some experience with this. He made a note to ask her about it later as her foot met the groin of one creep as her fist connected with the chin of another.

He eyed a guy out of his peripheral rushing toward Maria with a clenched fist. He swung his arm out making the guy land hard on his back and pushed him down harder with his boot.

“You were really about to sucker-punch a woman?” Michael growled.

“I haven’t seen a woman yet,” the guy coughed.

Michael didn’t get to respond. The punch to his eye had him seeing stars, and he blindly swung, landing as many punches as he could.

A sickening smack and a grunt that was all Maria had him seeing red again. He stole a glance over his shoulder and was stunned by how many guys she warded off, but he heard her labored breathing.

He growled loud and animalistic as he drove the heel of his palm into someone’s solar plexus, and he sent the guy sprawling out across the floor.

Fuck it; he couldn’t limit his powers if they ever hoped of getting out.

His heart seized in his chest when Maria disappeared from behind him. He reached around, groping at bodies but not finding her.

The distraction was all anyone needed to get the better of him, and he went down hard. Only then did he find Maria on the floor, but damn that woman, she was still fighting like hell.

It was enough. He tapped into his powers and sent multiple guys looming over them sailing across the room – hitting the walls and sliding down.

“DeLuca,” he croaked. He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. “We gotta book it, babe.”

He slung his arm around her waist, ignoring the sharp inhale of breath she took, and they took advantage of the break in the mob and hobbled out the door.

“Guerin!” Maria yanked on his hand to get his attention. “Looks like those cowards called in the calvary.”

He blinked, his left eye made everything blurry. “A new group of people was trudging down the trail laser-focused on them.

"We’ll go around,” she whispered. She pulled him around the back, her hand sweaty and her gait off. They spotted their truck in the distance, but a linked gate stood in their way.

“Make yourself useful, Guerin,” she barked. Her voice was strained without the fire and heat.

He didn’t need to see her to know what she meant. Her foot was in his cupped hands within seconds. Her soft hands burned his skin as she used him to hoist herself up.

His hands were on her ass, pushing her over the gate until she was comfortably straddling it, and she reached out to help him over too.

They dropped to the dirt and gravel around the same time, but he flanked her as they made a run for the truck. Based on the way she ran, he was betting she sprained her ankle.

They ignored the shooting and hollering from behind the gate as some of the mob celebrated running them off, but a few stragglers attempted to climb the gate as they had done.

Maria wasn’t looking, she was too busy clamoring into the truck and swearing when she realized she had climbed in on the passenger side.

He contorted and twisted the gate sending those on it flying toward the dirt.

“Screw it, DeLuca, I got this,” he slid into the driver’s seat and sped down the dirt road still running on adrenaline.

“Easy there, Clyde,” Maria murmured breathlessly.

He smirked at the reference, then winced at the shooting pain in his jaw.

He slowed down, the adrenaline fading and the pain starting to sink in. It hit him that he and Maria barely escaped a full-blown brawl with some rednecks and not like anything at the WP either. This time he was actually scared for …

He jerked the truck over to the side of the road before Maria could so much as protest and flicked the overhead lights so he could see her better.

“Shit, Maria.’ He studied her intently his hand reaching out not knowing where to touch her but needing to. "Are you OK?”

The light was dim, but he saw she had a busted lip. Her tank top was torn and bloody. His expression and his fist clenched around the steering wheel must have given away his inner turmoil.

“It’s not mine,” she said pulling at the tank top that was nothing more than tattered pieces. Her skin was exposed and her bra, but after a tug, she gave up trying to cover herself knowing it was futile, and she was shameless anyhow.

She had a cut on her forehead that fortunately didn’t look too deep, but he couldn’t fully assess the damage.

He unbuttoned his shirt and wiggled out of it handing it to her so she could cover-up.

“Thanks,” she said with a hiss as she struggled to drape it over herself. She pressed against her ribs and grimaced some more. “Yup, those are definitely bruised.”

He could barely contain his rage.

“Cool it, cowboy.” She smiled past her pain, her pearly whites tinged pink from the bloody lip. “You didn’t exactly get away unscathed.”

She pressed against his swollen eye and cringed sympathetically when he winced.

“I’m fine,” she laughed a caustic noise. “I’ll heal.”

“Good to know. Now, what were you thinking?” He heard the severe tone, but he couldn’t be bothered to soften it. He was too keyed up.

“Wha-”

“You were goading them, DeLuca. Those … those–”

“Racist, misogynistic assholes?” She supplied. He squirmed under the weight of her intense stare. “You didn’t know.”

He started the car back up and headed for the gas station further down the highway.

“I mean the rebel flag is usually a dead giveaway for what kind of establishment we were probably dealing with, but you didn’t know. It’s not on you, and I sure as hell won’t take a lecture about instigating anyone from you, Guerin.”

Just like that, she sliced through his guilt and fear like a hot knife through butter.

“I’m not used to you being the one to start trouble,” he muttered, as they pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m off the clock,” she quipped wryly. “I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

She grabbed his hat and placed it on her head, pulling the brim down until it covered her eyes and all he could see was that smirk of hers.

Maria gave him whiplash in the best possible way. She always managed to surprise him.

He ducked his head, swallowing back a chuckle, the adrenaline that was coursing through him waning.

“Hell of a scuffle to get into over $300, but you kept me on my toes,” he hopped out of the truck and shut the door. “I’ll go in,” his eyes shot to her tattered t-shirt, lingering a second too long on her breasts for it to be innocent. “You’ll draw more attention then I will.”

She barely heard his last words, too busy snickering and wincing over his error. “Oh, _babe_ ,” she emphasized the term of endearment mockingly, clearly recalling his usage earlier. “Three hundred? No, it was $3000.”

She pulled a wad from her bra and peeled off a few bills, handing them to him. “For the supplies,” she ignored his surprised expression, the gravity of what they endured finally hitting her as she laid back against the seat.

It turned out the gas attendant wouldn’t have noticed Maria. The kid barely paid him attention.

Maria was dozing when he got back to the car, and he opted to drive a bit more and pull off the side of the highway into the desert.

He hopped out and opened the truck bed, scattering the bags of first aid kits, snacks, and booze.

“Ah, the essentials,” she said at his side. Of course, he felt her before he even registered that she was really there.

He said nothing as he picked her up without warning and sat her on the bed. He tore the rest of her shirt off of her and shoved the remnants in his back pocket.

Maria had popped the cap off of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he bought and took a swig. But she shot him a look.

“What?” He sighed gingerly prodding at her ribcage. He didn’t see any visible bruising, but he noted how she winced at his touch, so the area was at the very least tender.

“You’re the reason I can’t find my underwear from that day, aren’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him assessing.

He activated a couple of cold packs, placing them against her and wrapping an ace bandage carefully around her. She hissed but took another sip, brow raised awaiting a response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his hands were resting on her hips, and he practically dared her to challenge him.

Doing that song and dance with Maria was almost as effective as a salve and booze.

“I had no need for your …” he slid his hands down her legs, stopping at her calves as he eased her foot out of her boot. “Black lacy underwear with the purple detailing. Not at all.”

He knelt down and ghosted his fingers across her ankle, noting every movement and verbal response. He proceeded to wrap that up too.

“Perv,” she hissed, flinching and squirming beneath his grip.

“I had to commemorate your poor decision making somehow.”

Her finger pushing a curl out of his face was unexpected, and his eyes met hers with a slight frown.

“You’re really good at this,” she said suddenly, seriously, her voice dropping to a whisper like she was trying to keep this observation a secret between them.

As if the desert wasn’t a keeper of secrets.

“I had a lot of practice,” he slipped. He knew he did. He always did with her. And it scared him shitless.

She let it go, reluctantly he could tell, and he almost wished she didn’t. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could tell her mind was racing with a dozen things she wasn’t saying.

“You gonna tell me where you learned to fight like that?” He studied her intently.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responded, looking as closed off as ever.

“I would, that’s why I asked the question.” The snark jumped out, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You were impressed,” she mused. “Noted. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

She handed him the bottle whiskey and hopped off the truck bed landing on her uninjured foot.

“Your turn,” she ignored his protest and grumbles, and he hopped on the bed in her stead.

The desert air was cool, and he watched the open shirt he loaned her rustle with the wind. He saw barely visible goosebumps across her skin. His nimble fingers buttoned her up while she cleaned up his lip and eye.

He flinched and whined at every turn, and she called him a baby, but he loved it. He loved the way her face scrunched up in concentration, the warmth of her breath against his face, the way she looked up at him, and her eyes were soft and caring beneath the brim of his hat.

His hand reflexively halted her movements after she dabbed alcohol on the cut along his forehead, and she shook her head, leaning further into the slot between his legs to blow on it.

When her eyes met his again, she gave him an arresting smile that made him inexplicably emotional. He turned his away to shake it off, but her soft hand was under his chin, compelling him to meet her eyes again.

“You good?”

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time someone cared for him like that, tended to him. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he let someone try.

“Good is not an adjective anyone would ever use to describe me, DeLuca,” he winked at her.

“You know you don’t always have to–”

“Snacks? He shoved a cellophane-wrapped package of cupcakes in her hand. "You should eat something. I got sweet, salty, and spicy.”

He bit into a spicy piece of beef jerky and took another swig of whiskey.

Her lips formed a tight line, but she let it go for the moment. He knew she would file it away for later, though.

She used him as leverage as she climbed into the truck bed. She scooted to the back and stretched out looking up at the stars.

He followed suit, unfolding the blanket in the back and throwing it over both of them.

They fell into a comfortable silence outside of the munching and swallowing, as they looked at the stars.

“I didn’t mean to get us into this,” he broke the silence.

“Driving to another state to steal something that definitely isn’t a car part and getting run out of town by an Aryan motorcycle gang after hustling three grand from them? What’s life without a little excitement and adventure?” Her tone was so nonchalant he wanted to laugh.

“I don’t get away from the Wild Pony much. It’s been a thrill,” she continued

“The last time you were out, it was pretty thrilling,” he teased, grabbing the bottle from her for another swig.

The lip of the bottle left her mouth with a pop, and she frowned at the loss and cursed him under her breath.

“Was it, though,” she posed.

“You certainly weren’t complaining. In fact, as I recall you were begging me to do that–”

She shoved a mini doughnut in his mouth, and his eyes lit up with mirth as he chewed and swallowed.

She shivered, removed his hat from her head and placed it beside her.

When she snuggled up to him, wincing along the way, he only pulled her in closer, his chin resting against the top of her head.

The last time they were like that, they were buzzed, and she told him he ran hot like a furnace.

“Desert, dirt, and truck beds, next time we should opt for a hotel room,” she grumbled.

“Oh, there’s gonna be a next time?” His tongue peeked out, as he bit back a genuine smile.

“You owe me copper. On that alone, it damn well better be one, but bless your heart for getting your hopes up, Guerin.”

He snorted. “I’d be okay. I can hold my breath well, but you know that already.”

He felt her face burning red hot against his skin. Mission accomplished. He waited for a snappy retort, but she fell silent again.

“So you knew there wasn’t a car part, but you didn’t say anything?” His voice was low and husky, hushed. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Did you want to tell me?” She whispered.

The long silence was answer enough. She didn’t know how much he grappled with telling her so many things.

“I figured if you really wanted to tell me, you would if you were ready. It’s important enough. Does it affect me?”

She sounded tired. And he tensed because maybe it did and maybe it didn’t.

“If it was important to you, and it didn’t affect me, it’s all I needed to know.”

His eyes stung with emotions he preferred to keep at bay. He sniffled, and she chose to ignore it. He was grateful for that.

He slid the whiskey from her fingers and put the top back on it. He used his foot to bunch the part of the blanket at their feet up as best as he could to make sure her ankle was elevated and pulled the rest snug around her.

He could sense a shift in her mood, but all he could do was ride the wave or wait it out.

“You always take care of me.” Her voice was small, hoarse, nothing above a whisper as if it cost her something to say it – like she trusted him with it but was afraid of how he would respond.

It was wonderous, like the mere thought– the concept was so foreign to her she couldn’t process it.

He recognized it as the thank you that it was.

“You always let me,” he whispered back.

This time when she shuddered, he knew it had nothing to do with the cool desert air.

She yawned, then hissed when the action caused her to ache, a litany of curses spilling from her lips to his utter amusement.

“Next time only call me if you’re robbing a bank,” she grumbled.

He scoffed softly but pressed his lips to her hair so lightly he doubted she could feel it. “Will do, Bonnie.”

“Go to sleep, Clyde,” she mumbled. Her soft snores following.

He didn’t, but she never needed to know that.


End file.
